Gail South
Saturday: He didn’t sleep much and said the pain was getting worse. He even took some aspirin, which for him is on the forbidden list because of his hematoma history. It rained all day, so we didn’t do much. Jerry took a nap and said he felt a bit better. I made a couple of jars of Cherry Bounce, although not with Pecile cherries, whose ripening is being hampered by all the rain. We were invited to Jane and Neil’s for dinner, a bright spot in the week. Stopped at the pharmacy in Prayssas for some aspirin substitute. In France, one can’t buy any medication at all except at the pharmacy, which, by the way, does not stock groceries, small electronics, toys or birthday cards.
Their house is charming, built right into the old town walls. Lynn and Bernard joined us and we had a very fine evening: hors d’oeuvres and sparkling wine, then a beautiful salad appetizer, huge salmon steaks in a delicious cream sauce with potatoes and broccoli, then a cheese plate and a gorgeous cream-filled meringue topped with, naturally, fresh strawberries. We drove home in the rain and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sunday: Poured all day. It’s quite a shame for the organizers of the painting competition in Clermont Dessous. I was invited to be one of the judges, and it turned out to be quite fun. We picked Carol up in St. Medard (she didn’t want to drive her big Volvo through to the tiny town) and we arrived on the hilltop for a picnic (indoor) at 12:30. All the artists were there as well as the volunteers for the fete and “our” charcutiere from the valley who catered the pork, sausages and chicken for the meal. There was a tent set up outside for the art, but we had use of the castle hall for the meal. After lunch, we came back to Carol’s for a bit and then returned in time for a wonderful concert of men’s voices in the church. The hair stood up on my arms when I heard “We shall overcome” echoing through that Romanesque building. I left the concert at intermission to perform my judgmental duties. In spite of the weather, there were sixteen entries and the overall quality was very good. I was able to hear the end of the concert, then the, very wet, winners were announced and awarded prizes. One of the local politicians appeared and made a short speech, then we adjourned back to the castle for aperos and small bites. The politician came over to shake our hands, but disappeared when he found out we were Americans. Took Carol home and returned to Pecile.
Just outside of Monsegur we stopped for a very nice traditional country lunch at Les Charmilles, nestled in right beside the river. Entrée (appetizer) of tomatoes with tuna, quiche and local charcuterie, Main of lamb stew and haricots verts buerres, and ice cream or chocolate mousse with a jug of wine. Total bill: 25 euros. Took a slow, scenic route back to the Aiguillon Intermarche, where once again, they didn’t have a lot of things on my list. The cherry farmer says the cerises are finished. Jerry complained about a headache and went to be early.
When we got home, Hassania was just leaving. We had seen her shiny new Peugeot in the driveway, and when I complimented her on it, she just glowed. She said she had had her old car for twenty-two and that she had worked a long time to get this new one. It made me think about some of the differences I have noticed about the people who live here in Aquitaine. Generalizations are usually inaccurate, but sometimes informative. We have lived in lots of different places in the USA and have visited lots in other countries, but this is our first long live-abroad experience. Southwest France is a mostly rural area, with independent farmers, as opposed to “big agriculture”, and I know things are different in Paris and other major metropolitan areas, but here the most striking note seems to be an indifference to “stuff”. Naturally, all people are interested in the everyday concerns of weather, health, government bureaucracy and family—also food! What is notably absent here is discussion of prices and sales, brands, things on a wish list, politics, race, religion, “must-haves”, “must-dos”, sports, cars, clothes, fashion, styles, and other people’s possessions. I don’t believe it is politeness, just lack of interest. There is a great deal of interest in local events (fairs, fetes, vides greniers (garage sales) and markets). All, however seems to be about meeting with friends to talk and eat, not so much to buy. At the weekly markets, the streets are full of groups of people kissy-kissing and talking—a whole morning taken up with purchasing a few vegetables and a few baguettes. People have been happy to tell us about the markets—who has the best cheese and where the pork farmer lives and works—but not where to get the cheapest cuts. We have heard about the night markets since we arrived. These occur in the summer (we are hoping some start at the end of June), where everyone arrives in the market square with their picnic baskets of place settings and goes around to the various stalls buying their dinner and then joining with everyone else to eat and talk. This weekend is a painting competition in Clermont Dessous, which seems to revolve around eating—I’ll tell you more tomorrow. People travel far to visit the flower markets—again, not to buy, just to see. People live well. Nobody appears to be in any way underprivileged. They all have cars and TVs, health care and home insurance, plenty of good food and all the modern appliances. The farmers drive shiny new combines and tractors and work very long days (except when it rains for six weeks and except for the iconic two-hour lunch). I’m not trying to judge or to proclaim it idyllic (the aforementioned government bureaucracy alone can make life a nightmare), but it is certainly different from anywhere I’ve seen in the USA.
Two of Daniel in the lions' den, and a pelican (which looks more like an eagle to me), and two monsters devouring two humans
Tuesday, June 4: Another lovely morning!! What a difference a few days can make. The eastern farmer cut all three hayfields yesterday, and it does make Zulu easier to take for a walk, although there were so many new smells in the upper field this morning I never did get him out of that one. It will be a bit rougher for Jerry to mow, however, as the big tractor tires made lots of ruts in the mowable parts of the grass. The cherries are turning red; the apples have doubled in size in the past few days; there are tiny zucchini and tiny tomatoes in the garden; and the chicken has finally begun to lay regularly. Went to Notre Dame in Allez et Cazeneuve for communion. We have been in a great many churches in the past seven weeks, but this was only the third service/communion. It’s hard to express how much I have missed the “congregation.” The church was lovely and more so filled with people, including a choir of about twelve (half the number of the congregation). The service is much less formal than ours at home, but Richard, English-born farmer of 34 years and husband of the priest, explained that they are serving Roman Catholics, “Baptists, Methodist, and other low Church” congregants, as well as Anglicans, so it’s wonderful that all are accommodated. I don’t think I’ve explained it well before, but the Aquitaine is a “Chaplaincy” consisting of congregations of all the “departments” (http://www.churchinaquitaine.org/). Lot-et-Garonne has six churches, Liz Morris is the priest of all six. She has to manage to co-ordinate services throughout the year among them. Allez has two such services, and the others are similar. They could certainly use the services of more priests. Marilyn Morrow, whom we met in our first days at, is the organist and choir director, and the music was wonderful this morning. Came home via a scenic route through Dolmayrac and worked a while, then grilled some Vallee de la Mas pork chops with BBQ sauce, artichokes and salad, EATING ON THE DECK, finalment.
Saint-Emilion is the oldest wine town in France. It lies at the heart of one of the world’s most densely cultivated wine regions, located on the north bank of the River Dordogne shortly before it flows into the Gironde. The town has hardly grown in size beyond its original 12th century ramparts, an appealing collection of old grey houses nestled in a south-facing amphitheater of low hills, with the green froth of the summer’s vines crawling over its walls. Underneath its pretty cobbled streets, the hillside has been hollowed out to create Europe’s largest underground church and is riddled with catacombs and quarries that provide ideal conditions for storing the precious wine. While the Romans had introduced vines to the area before the 3rd century, the history of St.-Emilion really starts some five hundred years later when the monk (not then or ever “Saint”) Emilion arrived here from Brittany and decided to stay. Making his hermitage in an enlarged natural cave, he soon gathered a sizeable following, drawn as much by tales of miracle cures as by his piety. The religious community continued to grow until the town boasted a population of about 10,000 (as opposed to fewer than 500 today) when it passed into the hands of the English crown in 1152 as part of the Duchy of Aquitaine. Richard Lionheart granted it a charter. Thus was born the Jurade, an assembly presiding over local justice, taxes, defense, and, of course, the wine. Eventually, it atrophied, but resurfaced in 1948, and is now devoted strictly to promoting and maintaining the quality of the wine. We are hoping to be back here the third Sunday in June (if we haven’t washed away by then) for the Fete de Printemps, when members dust off their finery for a grand celebration.
White Storks
Shelduck, Black-winged Stilt, Great Tit
Black-headed Gull, Yellow-legged Gull, Black Kite
Bayonne prospered from the 13th to the 15th centuries under the dubious protection of the Anglo-Norman kings who ruled Aquitaine. Since then, it has successfully withstood fourteen sieges. A century later, Jews, expelled en masse from Spain, injected fresh commercial vitality and must be forever thanked for establishing chocolate making as a local trade. The town’s 18th c commercial prosperity was fuelled in no small measure by Basque pirate ships, which landed cargoes much more valuable and sweeter scented than the tons of cod caught off the coast of Newfoundland by the substantial Basque fishing fleet. And so Bayonne is famous for its chocolates, marzipan and prime smoked ham. We bought some chocolates, but balked at the 96 euro per kilo price tag for the ham.
We had been looking forward to seeing the European paintings at the Musee Bonnat, but it was closed for renovation. C’est la vie.
We did go to Musee Basque et de l’histoire de Bayonne. It was an excellent introduction to their customs and traditions, but the information was only available in French, Spanish and Basque, so we missed a great deal.
It rained again as we drove home, but we saw a rainbow, so maybe that portends better weather ahead.
The sun was peeping through as we drove home, stopped for groceries, then went into Port Saint Maire for our French lesson. Grilled duck breasts for dinner with fresh asparagus and salad from our garden. Ray delivered a load of furniture the owners had shipped from England. Hoping for good weather for our trip to Bayonne tomorrow.
Friday, May 24: In my other life, I would have called this an overcast and chilly day. Here, it seems bright and almost cheerful. We knew we had a long day ahead, so we left early for Bayonne. Not too far into the drive, the skies opened up just as Tina turner sang “I can’t stand the rain against my windows” on the CD. It did clear up before we got there, but after a mis-turn on the autobahn cost us 25 euros. This territory is very different from Lot-et-Garonne, with its rolling hills and neatly tended fields. It is heavily forested, albeit with obviously planted pine trees, and, while every house has its kitchen garden, there are few large farms.
Bayonne (Baiona in Basque) means “the good river.” And indeed the wide estuary of the wide, languid River Adour, into which the smaller River Nive leaks, arriving straight from the Pyrenees, in a sense still defines the town. The pair establishes a watery boundary for the very Basque Petit Bayonne with its narrow streets, attractive riverside buildings clad in red and green shutters, student bars, and shoals of waterside restaurants. Here, Euskara is spoken almost as much as French. The Grand Bayonne is the district around the cathedral for which we headed after snaring a parking spot right under the ramparts. Thanks to Vauban’s 17th century fortifications, now grass-covered and dotted with trees, a slim, green belt surrounds the city center. We chose not to walk the old ramparts but headed instead for the maze of pedestrianized streets surrounding the cathedral.
The twin towers of this Gothic Cathedral of Sainte Marie soar above the city. Construction began in the 13th century, when Bayonne was ruled by the Anglo-Normans, and was completed well after France assumed control in 1451. The nave’s enormously high (85 feet) vaulted ceiling reflects these political changes: up there are both the English coat of arms (three lions) and that most French of emblems, the fleur-de-lys. Above the north aisle are three lovely stained-glass windows, mainly Renaissance, with 19th century neogothic additions. The pulpit is made of mahogany from the Canary Islands. Around the chapel with the baptismal font you can see, in the funeral niche, a fresco of the Crucifixion from the 15th century
They had an interesting way of telling you not to sit on the chairs—a prickly thistle was in the middle of each seat.
Thursday: Rain again. It’s actually become so wet that the first floor windows are all sprouting snails! Escargots pour diner?? We took off for Agen to visit the Musee des Beaux Arts. Parked in the free lot by the river and stood under our umbrellas waiting for the little green city bus to take us into town. After a bit, Sarah went over to the schedule board and found that the busses are on strike. So we went back, got the cal and drove through the narrow, winding streets of Agen till we found the central parking lot. Spent the next few hours enjoying the works displayed in four magnificent Renaissance mansion houses. It is one of the richest museums in the southwest of France, containing a wide panorama of the history of Art, from Prehistory to the twentieth century. The ticket seller gave us an excellent notebook in English explaining the whole collection. There was a Prehistoric collection in the donjon—where I would not have liked to spend much time.
France~Aquitaine Part 3
Went to church at Dondas. Very nice service with about 25 in the congregation. The priest was the Reverend David Jones who quoted one of his seminary professors, Owen Thomas as saying the theology is always superseded by scripture, tradition and reason—interesting. He also talked a little about the Pope’s speech in May saying we are all created in the image of God, that we are put on earth to do good, and that we will all meet based on our deeds. Apparently that last piece created all sorts of mayhem I the Catholic church, which does not release transcripts of his sermons. An interesting homily. Maggie and Angela had made coffee and goodies, but we left as we had a reservation for lunch at a two-star Michelin restaurant In Puymirols (another thing checked off my bucket list—if I had a bucket list). We hadn’t celebrate Mother’s Day, my birthday, today (Father’s Day) or Jerry’s birthday on Tuesday, so this is to make up for it, and it did. Housed in a 13th century castle in the oldest bastide town in Lot-et-Garonne, this former home of the Counts of Toulouse was a beautiful spot. We had a table in the cloister and chose the special menu for la fete des peres.
Saturday: Overcast, but warm. Went to have coffee and croissants with Lyn at her gorgeously renovated farmhouse not far from where we live. She has two gentle and beautiful smooth collies, Phoebe and Jack, and an incredible view of Montpezat. As we sta on the terrace, two deer frolicked in the orchard. Jerry strimmed all afternoon and got most of it done. Jane, Neil, Kerry and Phil, all former guardians of Le Pecile, came over for a glass of wine in the evening, and we enjoyed meeting the latter and some good conversation. I cooked duck legs with a (Pecile) cherry wine reduction. All-in-all a great day.
Sunday, June 16, Father’s Day: Started out with a huge grasshopper in the bathroom. I thought it was a frog. Then when Zulu and I were returning from our morning walk, we found a beautiful green woodpecker trapped in the netting of one of the hay bales. Zulu thought it looked delicious, but I was able to get him away. Jerry and I walked down with a towel and a pair of scissors and set it free.
Listrac-de-Dureza and Aurioills to the Benedictine Abbey de Saint Ferme. In part dating from before the 11th century, in Romanesque style, and in part from a rebuilding following the Wars of Religion (around 1615), the abbey is an imposing structure with interesting carved decorative features. If there ever was a grand portal, it was destroyed in the wars, but the inside contains some remarkable work, especially on the capitals in the tree bays around the altar.
In Soussac, we drove to the top of a “Point de Vue”, but there wasn’t anything worth “vueing”. Then down a castle-strewn road through
We began to look for lunch and were lucky enough to find L’Alcove, a tiney twenty-seat “restaurant traditional” at 27 Rue Gaudet. We snagged two of the last seats and had a great view of people being turned away during the entire meal. I’m not sure where the idea of small plates in French restaurants came from, but ours were very big. We ordered a la carte. Jerry’s appetizer was fois gras two ways: five slices sautéed and one big cold slab. Then he had a casserole of ham over mashed potatoes. I had a huge platter of scallops ceviche (with their orange livers) and hen the best veal I’ve ever had, over mashed potatoes and topped with truffles and mushrooms. We had a delicious bottle of St.-Emilion Grand Cru—a 2008 Concerto. No room for dessert.
Back to the tourist office for a large, English language tour. The rock on which this upper part of St Emilion is built is a veritable honeycomb. It’s estimated that 120,000square meters of rock have been excavated from under the town alone, including the vast subterranean Eglise Monolithe, which we approached down a very steep cobbled street, with graffiti all around. No photographs are allowed inside buildings on this tour. It started in a dark hole, supposedly the cave where St Emilion lived a hermit’s life. A rough-hewn ledge served as his bed and a carved seat as his chair, where women trying to conceive reputedly still sit in the hope of getting pregnant. Back outside, directly above the cave is the simple 13th century Trinity Chapel. Fragments of frescoes can still be seen. On the other side of the yard, a passage tunnels beneath the belfry to the catacombs, where three chambers dug out of the soft limestone were used as a cemetery and then as an ossuary from the 8th to 11th centuries. The church itself is an incredible place. Simple and huge, the entire structure—barrel-vaulting, great square piers and all—was hacked out of the rock by Benedictine monks between the 9th and 12th centuries. It is nearly 40 meters long, twenty wide and eleven at it highest. Various bas relief carvings around the altar, a pair of 6-winged angels, two signs of the zodiac and an unfinished scene of a man wrestling with a snake-headed monster. The caverns are so vast the whole town is in danger of collapse, so, in the late 90’s, they built huge iron girdles around the pillars to secure them. Very ugly, but safe for tourists. Bought a bag of traditional cookies and took a long way home, stopping for cherries and strawberries.
We parked just outside the walls and walked up to the excellent tourism center next to the clock tower above the rock-hewn church. Beside the belfry there is a marvelous view over the huddled roofs of town (or, you could climb the tower for an even better view—we didn’t). There were plenty of visitors. We purchased tickets for “Underground St.-Emilion”, a guided tour scheduled to begin at two, in about two hours. We stopped in the collegiate church with its 12th century frescoes and the statue of St Valery on the transept’s northeast wall. Carved and painted in the 16th century, he bears a staff, sack, gourd, scythe and a natty pair of pointy slippers. This was on the road to Compostelle, and many pilgrims stopped here. He is the patron saint of local wine-growers. Walked outside to the lovely and inviting 14th century cloister.
Mute Swan
and cygnets
Pied Avocet, Chaffinch, Black-tailed Godwits
Saturday: Spent most of the day resting and cleaning up. Tomorrow we take Sarah to Bordeaux so that she can go back to work on Tuesday. In the afternoon we went across the river to Bruch to the medieval festival. It was fun and the town is very pretty. The brochure said it started at two, and we arrived about three, but not too much was happening. It is mainly focused on families with young children, with lots of games and entertainment. There is to be a banquet at eight and, I suspect, the main activities will be tomorrow.
The French 19th century is represented by some Great Masters including Courbet, Millet, Corot, Sisley, Caillebotte and Lebourg.
At the end, on the top floor were some 20th century artists who didn’t impress us much, but the room was lovely.
Monday: Baked an upside down cake with cherries instead of starfruit and it was pretty good. Helen, Marie Helene and Carol came over for some conversation in French just as the sunshine gave way to pouring down rain. We had fun. Then we went up to dinner at Jean Jacques and Bernard’s very extraordinary and unusual home. We had never been inside and could have spent hours admiring all of their beautiful things. Shirley and Jerrold were there, as well as Shirley’s long-time friend, Jennie. The dinner was great: melon, then roasted peppers in oil, followed by chicken aux citrons with rice, cheese, and a gorgeous Pavlova made by Shirley. They have two Bouvier des Flandres, Amour and Adore, both much smaller than Toz, and a cat who had never been in the dining room before. Zulu was puzzled when we arrived home about 11—he had assumed the day was over and was in a very sound sleep.
Coffee came with a plate of sweets (in case we were still hungry): violet macaroons, lemon tart, chocolate bombe, and the ubiquitous canale de Bordeaux
We also had a delicious white wine: Château Les Tours des Verdots from Bergerac (http://www.winetravelguides.com/Guides/France/South-West-France/The-Dordogne/Producers/Chateau-Les-Tours-des-Verdots) made of Sauvignon Blanc, Muscadelles, Semilion, and a bit of Sauvignon Gris. The vineyard is a little more than an hour from here. Might be worth a visit, but we’re running out of time.
Le trifle aux fraises, chantilly au lait d’amandes: strawberries, ice cream, gelee, whipped cream, toasted almonds and a big gingerbread cookie
We had planned to have lunch at the water lily garden called Latour-Marliac which was the provided of lilies to Monet for Giverny. When we got there, it didn’t appear as we had imagined and we decided to skip it and to have lunch in Le Temple sur Lot a short distance away. It was a good decision, at least as far as the meal went. This is a small village on the River Lot notable for its connection with the Knights Templar. The Restaurant La Commanderie is nestled right in the town walls and is fronted by two large pools with flowers and fountains. We ate on the terrace and had an excellent meal. The waited brought an amuse bouche of red pepper stuffed with mashed potatoes on a delicious pepper sauce. Jerry started with foie gras a couple of different ways with interesting garnishes, and I had snails in a tomato and pearl onion broth. We both had the veal, a huge piece of tenderloin wrapped and roasted in fat, with a big pile of sautéed wild mushrooms, pumpkin soufflés and potatoes cooked in a mold. Dessert was an assortment of their delicacies all based around strawberries (except for one lone prune): strawberry smoothie, strawberry tart, strawberries and ice cream in a pastry shell, and a tiny crème brulee. It was another pretty drive home, where someone had disconnected a water hose??
Thursday: Worked this morning, then went into our French lesson in Port Ste.-Marie. The farmers, both east and west, are certainly making up for lost time, sewing, cutting and baling from dawn till dark. Cooked turkey and pasta, with lettuce from the garden. We had rose wine with it. Linda R. would love it here—they all drink rose, almost to the exclusion of white. We are learning to enjoy the taste, it seems less sweet than the white zinfandel served in the US.
Friday, June 7—D Day: Nice day, so we decided to do a leisurely drive north of Duras through some of the bastide towns we have missed (although there can’t be too man of those left). Castelviel is a tiny, flowery village in a rolling landscape of vineyards. The jewel here is the carved south portal of its well-buttressed, twelfth-century church. There are five tiers of carving. The outer arch depicts twelve scenes from rural life, corresponding to the months. On the second, the Vices confront the Vices, a bit harder to make out. The third, which resembles a tug-of-war, represents the faithful united by their common bonds. And the rest of the carvings are various monsters, biblical characters, and layers of interlocking vegetation.
Wednesday: The highlight of the day was a two-hour coffee with Helen and Marie-Helen. I am certainly understanding more and, I hope, speaking better. Trimmed the roses after a good dinner of grilled duck breasts. I was finally able to wear the skirt Linda S. sent me to celebrate summer. My friend Marie-Helene gave me an old postcard of Le Pecile, and I took a comparable.
Wednesday: Pouring rain again, but we were getting cabin fever and we found a great book, “Bordeaux and the Wine Routes,” so decided to head to the regions famous for Graves and Sauternes. First stop was Langon, where it was just too miserable to get out to see the church there. Same story for Barsac, but when we got to Podensac, although the deluge continued, we managed to find Le Maison des Graves and went in for a very interesting and informative tour of their cellar (cave). I’ve done my share of wine tasting, but either this was especially good or my palette is improving as we tasted three dry whites and three distinctive reds. In the first category, we like the ones best that had slightly more Sauvignon Blanc than Semillon and were aged in oak. We bought two of those and four reds. In Portets we chanced upon the remnants of the morning market and it stopped raining long enough for us to buy some peas and take a photo of the “grape statue” in front of the church.
We wanted to check out the Sauternes, very sweet, full bodied and somewhat spicy golden wines, so we headed for Sauternes (d’accord!). We had heard about a restaurant in the town and tried to stop for lunch, but it was fully booked. That turned out to be a good thing, as the other restaurant in town was a high point of the trip so far. Le Saprien was a charming stone building with a lovely terrace, only spoiled by the downpour (I’m running out of words for “rain”). We had the Menu Barsac, starting with a terrine of beef shank and foie gras (of which there was precious little), with onion marmalade and pickled melon. We also each got a glass of Sauterne. It did go nicely with the appetizer, but it was too sweet for us and we decided not to buy any for home. For the Main, Jerry had turbot poached in cuttlefish ink and I had duck breast done perfectly with tiny, marble-sized potatoes cooked in, no doubt, duck fat. The dessert was a buttery tart with rhubarb and strawberries and a side of ice cream. Very nice. Our final stop was the Chateau de Roquetaillade. Classified as a historic monument in 1840, it has been in the same family since 1306 (built in that year by Pope Clement V’s nephew, Cardinal Gaillard de la Mothe). Photos of some of the current occupants were on a sideboard in one of the rooms. As such, its interior is not of the 14th century, but the rooms through which we toured were the work of the celebrated architect Viollet le Duc, “the 19th century saviour of Gothic art” (Notre Dame in Paris, Mont-Saint Michel, and Carcassone among others). Here we saw brilliant Renaissance touches, the first huge marble chimneys of the south-west, period furniture, and le Duc’s marvelous painted interiors. It was briefly sunny when we arrived, but le soleil disappeared as soon as we got inside and it continued to pour until we got back home, when thunderstorms replaced the “regular” rain.
Grey Plover, Redshank, Bird companions
Thursday: Rain again. It’s actually become so wet that the first floor windows are all sprouting snails! Escargots pour diner?? We took off for Agen to visit the Musee des Beaux Arts. Parked in the free lot by the river and stood under our umbrellas waiting for the little green city bus to take us into town. After a bit, Sarah went over to the schedule board and found that the busses are on strike. So we went back, got the cal and drove through the narrow, winding streets of Agen till we found the central parking lot. Spent the next few hours enjoying the works displayed in four magnificent Renaissance mansion houses. It is one of the richest museums in the southwest of France, containing a wide panorama of the history of Art, from Prehistory to the twentieth century. The ticket seller gave us an excellent notebook in English explaining the whole collection. There was a Prehistoric collection in the donjon—where I would not have liked to spend much time.
Le cabecou du Lot—quelques feuilles de roqutette: Tiny cheese from the local area with buttery baby lettuce and arugula.
Le pigeonneau roti—petits pois du pays a l francaise: Roasted pigeon leg with tiny fresh peas cooked in a lettuce and butter sauce with pearl onions and ham (the other choice was duck with cherries—which we had just had last night—I’m sure of comparable quality)
Crevettes et coquillages en nage de gingembre—coco et citronelle: A warm soup of shrimp and shellfish swimming in a coconut and lemongrass soup seasoned with ginger
Les fines lamellas de raves au foie gras—vinaigrette d’argan: tiny slivers of crispy beet with a slice of foie gras in a delicious sauce, all on top of transparent, paper-thin slices of an unknown root vegetable, pickled with a sauce of argan oil (aka Moroccan Oil—very good for the hair)
We wanted to see the 16th century French Renaissance cathedral, but also its attached cloister garden. They were small, but very well done, with boxwood and yew topiary creations. Not too many flowers were in evidence; I suspect all the rain has done them in. The cathedral had a beautiful organ, some amazingly detailed stained glass windows, and a massive carved walnut bas relief of St. Benedict. Afterwards, we walked a little on the pretty back streets of this town.
Wednesday: Another one beautiful day in a row. Jerry decided to spend it mowing as it is supposed to rain tomorrow. I put another coat of oil on the teak chairs. It went much faster this time. I think another coat before winter should be enough. Began work on our trip to Spain later in the month.
Thursday: Woke up to deep, deep fog. We decided to stay home rather than go garden-hopping as we had planned. I’m going to pick cherries from the Le Pecile trees. Made two more liters of Cherry Bounce. Jean Jacques and Bernard stopped by to invite us to dinner next week after the kids get here.
Friday: Early this morning, a truck arrived and hauled off the pile of stones which had been at the end of the driveway. As the weather was cooperating, off we took to visit Marmande. When we passed Jean Jacques and Bernard’s place, lo and behold, there was the truck with the men unloading stone to fix their driveway. It was a pretty drive through the countryside. It has taken us a while, but we finally have identified the fields and fields of seedlings we’ve been seeing everywhere. Now that they’re a foot high, we can see that they’re sunflowers. I hope they bloom before we leave-it will be a magnificent sight. We stopped to look at the pretty village church in Anzex and found a sign on the cemetery in French and English identifying it as a Commonwealth War Garden. Buried here is an English Air Force man named Alec David Barnett, who died in France on the fourth of December, 1944.
There are traditional auberges landaises, wooden houses with sloping roofs, as well as hen houses built on stilts because of the foxes (our hen house should be built on stilts because of the floods).
Saturday, June 1: Overcast in the morning, but the sun did come out late. Jerry strimmed most of the morning, then tried to mow wherever he could without sinking. I did laundry and cleaned upstairs. We had stopped at the Aiguillon marche yesterday morning and the fishmonger had some skate, so I cooked that for dinner with a fresh-from-the-garden salad and simple but delicious Roquefort dressing. We had a delicious white Graves, Chateau d’Archambeau, that we had brought back from Podensac. Started to plan for Meagan and Dawson's visit.
Sunday: Lovely day. It started out grey and overcast and we sighed. Just a small way down the road toward Praysses, we had seen signs for Quissat. Earlier this week, pink permanent signs appeared on the directional posts with “Domaine Quissat” noted. Our friends had told us about a picnic scheduled for today at a winery close by and had reserved a table for eleven. It turns out it was Quissat, a very nice vignoble producing reds and roses, and we enjoyed a day with them We arrived about 12:30 with our plates and silver and joined Richard and David, Eric and Elaine, Lynne and Bernard, and Deirdre and Keith at a long table in the garden (Carol was sick with a cold). The deal is that you take your plate and go to the various stands and buy your meal. The choices were limited, but good. We had rotisserie chicken and frites and a salad with a glass each of red and rose and some local cheese. There were also crepes, ice cream and, of course, strawberries. With the sun shining we were all reluctant to leave and stayed till about 3:30. What a joy to see the sun and feel the warmth.
Monday: Jerry was disappointed in not having any oysters when we visited the Parc Ornithologique with Sarah, so we decided to back today. Drove through Roquefort (the second, but apparently not the cheese one, which is some distance east of Albi) and then entered the Landes Forest. I had mentioned earlier how different the landscape is here, and now we found out why. The soil is uniformly sandy, and until a century ago, the whole region became a swamp in winter because of a layer of tufa (pourous rock) just under the surface that retained water from the brackish lakes. Any settlement or agriculture close to the sea was impossible due to the constantly shifting dunes. Furthermore, the mouth of the Ardour River kept moving from Capbreton to Vieux-Boucau and back, a distance of 20 miles. The Ardour was stabilized near Bayonne by a canal in the 16th century. This was the start of the slow conquest of the Landes. The planting of pine trees ultimately wiped out the migrant shepherds and their flocks. Today, the inner Landes is still very underpopulated, but wealthy from its pinewood and pine derivatives. In 1970, part of the forest was made into a nature park. In Sabres we took a cute little steam train to Marqueze, where a typical 19th century airial (clearing) has been restored as the Ecomusee Landes. It commemorates the vanished world of Les Landes before the draining of the marshes, when shepherds still used stilts to get about.
Thursday, May 30 Poured rain all day. Zulu is getting cabin fever. He usually spends most of the day sleeping on the front porch. Now he has to spend it sleeping on his couch. Our French lesson was a bit chaotic, but fun. The Centre Social is having an audit and we combined our class and the writing class to take the opinion survey about services here. We are so used to filling out forms by coloring in the circle that it’s hard to understand that some people have never done it. Anyway, with fifty questions, it took nearly an hour for nine of us to complete. But Jerry even answered some questions in French!! Hassania came while we were gone and mopped the floors. They will be wet again soon.
Friday: It rained all night and now we are located on a lakefront with our own waterfall. But it seemed to have stopped and we decided to make our way to St-Emilion and their famous red wines. We were lucky. It only sprinkled a few times and once or twice the sun came out.
Little Ringed Plover and a pair of chicks
Sunday, May 26: Well, for those of you who have stayed with me through chateaus, churches and museums, today is the day! First really nice day since just after we arrived six weeks ago, today we went to the Ornithological Park of Teich, on the Arachon Basin across from Cap Ferrat. Great day of birding. So now you’ll get to see some bird photos.
Got Sarah to her hotel next to the airport and had a quick drive home on the autoroute.
There is one especially lovely stained-glass window telling the story of the Canaanite woman beseeching Jesus to cure her devil-possessed daughter. On the left of the three window panel we can see the bat-winged devil fly away. The knocker on the door was symbolic. If a fugitive could put a hand to this, he was entitled to sanctuary.
Then the rich collection of Spanish works of the 18th and 19th centuries, among which are five exceptional Goyas, including this self-portrait. Goya was fifty-three years old when he published a bound volume of eighty etchings and captions entitled: Los Caprichos. The original meaning of the word capricho is “a whim, a fantasy, a play of the imagination, or a passing fancy”. This was clearly not Goya’s interpretation of the word. The dark, morality tales found in Los Caprichos are a direct consequence of the injustice and corruption that plagued Goya’s everyday experience and urged him to act. In a ghostly light, animals fly across the sky above a heap of rocks out of which loom up human figures that are obviously terrified. The animals could represent the troops of Napoleon which threaten the inhabitants of invaded Spain.
You will now have to bear with my description of a truly memorable meal.
The chef, Michel Trama, kept appearing in the dining room, once just as we asked the waiter to take our photo.
“Pour la fete des peres, Michel Trama et son atelier vous ont elabore ce menu pour le dejeuner”.
Amusees bouche: a trio of tastes—mousse of smoked trout; trompe d’oeil of carrot puree (yolk) with a lime gelatin (white); Mashed potatoes with salmon in a crisp potato crust
The chef, Michel Trama, kept appearing in the dining room, once just as we asked the waiter to take our photo.
Tuesday: Raining in the morning, but it cleared up in the afternoon. We went to a very wonderful Ecumenical Service at L’Eglise St. Christophe in Trentels, an hour away. There were about fifty people, two Catholic priests and two Anglican priests. It was readings and hymns and everything alternated between French and English. We didn’t stay for the lunch afterwards, as we had our last French lesson at two. They are stopping for the summer and will resume in September. We spent the whole two hours discussing the way the French government is set up and organized, and we both learned a lot. We will miss the lessons. Jerry was able to get a couple of hours of mowing in. He is afraid it will take him at least two days to do the rest.
Monday, June 10: Worked on a plan for Meagan and Dawson's visit and our overnights in Perigord. It rained again all day. Went into Port Sainte-Marie for a French class.
In Blasimon, founded by the English in 1322, is another similar Romanesque church and another remarkable doorway. This one is part of a ruined abbey which was abandoned in the thirteenth century. These figures are in better shape than the ones at the previous church. The elongated, sinuous figures of the Vices and Virtues are so incredibly delicate that it’s hard to believe they are almost 700 years old. You can tell the stories, even when the figures are worn.
When we got back to the car, it was 12:30 and we figured most restaurants would close at two, so we took ourselves quickly back to the Arcachon Basin and the little town of Gujan-Mestras where we found several oyster-tasting venues clustered around the harbor. We sat in the sun and ate three dozen with a bit of bread and pate, then bought two more dozen to take home. I didn’t want to leave without seeing the Dune du Pilat, the largest sand dune in Europe and one that would have been very welcome on Long Beach Island last October. It is nearly 2 miles long, 375 feet high, and 1625 feet wide. I would have liked to climb to the top and see the ocean, which I miss very much, but it would take almost two hours to get home along the major autoroute, so we left it for another time. Got home in time for Jerry to mow for an hour before opening the Banc d’Arguin huitres for a snack.
Monday, my birthday: OK, so we had one nice day in a row. Overcast and cool today. Stayed home and worked on my bird photos. Went to French class and had an interesting discussion about losses.
Tuesday, May 28 Pouring rain this morning. I feel very bad for the farmers whose planting season is a washout. We have lost six basil plants, two peppers and an eggplant and nothing else is looking great. French in the afternoon.
Yellow Wagtail, Whitethroat and a Frog
On the way home, we drove up to Clermont Dessous, the tiny town at the top of the hill across from our house. There were hundreds of cars parked all the way up into town and we were hoping for another fete, but it was a funeral. I will have to try and find out who died. Must have been someone very well known. Note: subsequent info from Carol (her husband, Eric, died last year) People always go to funerals here, friends of the family as well as the person. The service for my husband Eric was here in St Medard. The church was completely full, the people he talked to on his daily walks, the whole village, as well as English friends from around about, people we went to French classes with, including the teachers. It was a bilingual service taken by Paul who is bilingual. Alex translating the eulogy. It was the first Anglican service that the local people had ever been to, and they were very impressed, our services are much more of a celebration of life than the catholic, which tend to be cold and rather depressing. Everyone supports a funeral around here!!! I think its wonderful.
Went into Prayssas and La Bastide restaurant, where we had another good meal. Sarah got the profiteroles for dessert, and we shared.
When we got stuck in a dead end street we noticed an oyster bar, and decided that would be a must for lunch, so after the Cathedral, we walked along the river and the profusion of cafes and restaurants until we found where the blackboard advertised two types of huitres. We sat under a big umbrella outside and Jerry and I each ordered a dozen. They were very delicious, plump and ocean-y. Then Sarah and Jerry had the menu de jour, excellent hake, served with rice and vegetables and not-quite-enough sauce, and I had a cheese plate. There was warm apple tart with ice cream for dessert.